Grace for the Damned
by immie8
Summary: Five characters reflect in the aftermath of 1.04 – 'A Feast of Friends'. Oneshot told from 5 different POVs. Spoilers for 1.04.


Disclaimer: If I owned it the show would definitely have gotten a back nine and a season 2 renewal. *sigh* Quote was featured in Criminal Minds.

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><p><span><strong>Grace for the Damned<strong>

_The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor. He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time. – Frank Miller_

_**Zed**_

Zed curled up on the couch, eyes squeezed shut trying to block the echoes of pain that threatened to swallow her whole. Even here on the ground floor, high and far from that dark, tiny cell she could sense it: complete agony – physical, mental, spiritual torment that not even distance could completely mute. And beneath it all guilt, the same bone-wearying, soul-crushing guilt that had extinguished her anger and led her to quietly help John carry what remained of his friend to the back room.

_He came to me!_

The anguish that rolled from him was beyond anything she'd ever felt and it gave her pause, dampening the rage she felt at revelation that man she'd chosen to stand behind had deliberately chosen to betray a friend. Once again the thought brought the whispers to her mind, urging her to run, insisting that it was only a matter of time before he turned on her. Shaking her head, she ruthlessly pushed the voice back.

_If you can't handle it, then go. _

She had to keep herself from flinching at the raw emotion pulsed from the normally stoic cynic. Conflicting surges of resignation and hope crashed over her – resignation at her leaving, hope at her leaving; resignation at her staying, hope at her staying. And beneath it all a weariness born of a lifetime of loss and loneliness and the burden of the weight of choices that no man would ever wish to have to make. Even now the memory still tore at her heart.

She held the door, helped him make his way down and watched as he strapped Gary to the bed, all the while wishing she could find words to say, something to offer the heartbroken, stone-faced man before her. She began to make her way out as John stood, and it was only as the door began to close behind her that she realized she was alone in the hall.

"What are you doing?" she asked, placing a hand on the door.

"He's not going to die alone, he deserves better than that."

Before she could respond, the door slammed in her face. She blinked in shock for a moment before scowling. Straightening her shoulders, she raised her hand to push through the door and declare that she wasn't leaving him alone either. Then the demon woke. Before the screams even started she collapsed to her knees – the pain emanating from beyond that door lighting her every nerve aflame. She had no idea how she made it upstairs, but the next thing she remembered she was curled on the couch, the echoes from below hanging in the air. She had little recollection of the time after that – she knew that somehow she must have forced herself to function, to do the bare minimum needed to keep herself alive but even that was exhausting and more often than not she found herself curled on that couch doing everything she could to keep a hold of her sanity. That was how Chas had found her. She could hear him now, making his way towards the back and she hoped with all her heart that he would be able to offer the comfort that she could not.

_He deserves better than that._

Zed swallowed as she recalled John's last words to her. _**He **_deserved better – Gary did, but not John – that's what he thought realized Zed with startling clarity. At the thought, her mind drifted back to yet another of her recent conversations with him, of his dismissal at her proclamation that no one was hopeless. At the time she thought that he'd been speaking of Gary, but she knew better now. John truly believed that he was fated to die alone and, more than that, that he deserved to. The thought sparked a fire in her and as it grew she found herself more determined than ever to stay. She would prove him wrong: he wasn't going to die alone and he didn't deserve to. Suddenly she felt a snap and a moment later she felt a single tear roll down her face as she realized that it was over.

_**Gary**_

Gary had never been in so much pain in his entire life. He'd thought he'd known what pain was – the pain of guilt, of disappointment, of having your face carved up while wrestling a demon for control, but it was nothing compared to this. Every nerve, every cell burned in sheer agony as the demon within desperately scratched and clawed, slowly consuming him from the inside out. Somewhere along the line his mind registered that he'd stopped screaming – his body too worn out to continue, and he wondered how much longer it would be.

_It might take days of sheer agony before you die. _

John's voice echoed in his head, the sound of it helping Gary to focus on the sliver of consciousness that he still possessed – that told him his friend had not left his side. He clung to it – to that little bit of awareness that could still feel John's hand wrapped tightly around his. The knowledge gave him strength and, moreover, a peace that even the agony could not break.

The creature inside him felt the shift in his awareness and Gary could feel the thing sneering at him, mocking him for still loving the man who betrayed him. Gary forced himself to block it out, a part of him laughing darkly at his mind's observation that the thing was, perhaps, a little more intelligent than they'd given him credit for. _Though not by much_ thought Gary as he found himself on that stage again – the demon apparently believing he could torment him by forcing him to relive said moment of betrayal. He felt his body tense and shudder as he was forced to relive the moment of possession and the subsequent marking of his face. Then, just as before, he felt himself collapse boneless into John's lap and the memory ended. As the memory faded the demon renewed his attack, whispering accusations and offering Gary a deal – to end his suffering if he would just help him curse the man who betrayed him. Gary laughed in its face and relished at the shock he felt radiating from the creature.

If only the thing knew how much strength he drew from that moment, from hearing the pride in John's voice, the feel of the man's hands around his face, his lips on his forehead – a benediction. And despite where the demon had ended the memory he remembered what happened after the last stroke of the blade. Exhausted as he may have been, he'd still been (_semi-_)conscious at the time and he remembered – remembered how John had cradled his head and then gripped his limp form tight as a cry of anguish was torn from his throat.

The memory caused Gary's heart to clench and once again he wished that he had the strength to surface – even if just for a moment – to tell John that it was okay, that it was his choice and that he would choose it again even knowing all that he did. He wondered if John knew the gift that he'd actually given him. After Newcastle he'd gone over the edge, spiraling down into the depths, wracked with guilt and shame sure that soon he'd be dead. A death that would have been as meaningless as his life had been. They'd find his body in an empty alley, a needle in his arm or, perhaps, having choked on his own vomit. Now this, this was a death he could be proud of.

He gasped as a sudden wave of agony snapped him from his reverie. The demon had begun clawing again and this time there was a distinct air of desperation surrounding it. The realization caused Gary to smile to himself – for he knew that soon it would be over.

_**Manny**_

Manny stood silently continuing to observe the scene before him, his impassive expression giving no hint to the turmoil he felt within. Despite what Constantine thought, he was not uncaring. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Unlike the Fallen one, he cared deeply for his Father's other children and it broke his heart to see two of them in such pain. So much so that he was sorely tempted to break the rules of this world and cast the abomination that possessed Gary Lester back to Hell. But he did not, for to do so would have consequences beyond what he could imagine and he knew he was already flirting with that line by using his powers to sustain John throughout this ordeal.

It'd been three days since John had first brought Gary down to this cell and throughout that time he had not felt the need to move once due to Manny's interference with the natural order. It was a dangerous choice and he'd almost stayed his hand, but John's desperate need to stay pulled at his heart until it could not resist this one act.

John Constantine. Even after all this time the human was still a mystery to him. Why he was chosen, though, was becoming less so. It'd taken many years and more than a handful of trying moments, but he was finally coming to see. It'd started after the incident – he'd exerted every ounce of influence he could manage, but it hadn't made a bit of difference. Foolishly, arrogantly, recklessly, he'd gone through with the plan and damned the child along with himself. Manny was sure it would have been over then, that he would have been called to another but instead he felt more compelled than ever to stay.

And so he obeyed and watched – watched as John ran, closing himself off from the world he was to protect, desperately searching for a way to bury his guilt. Watched as he hid, as he shut his eyes and tried to pretend indifference, and watched as he failed at that only to come storming back more determined than ever to push back the darkness. And as he watched, Manny felt something grow inside of him at this mortal who fought with such determination, with such conviction – even knowing he was damned, even knowing every victory would only make his eternity worse.

Manny glanced back at his charge and had to bite back a groan of frustration at the guilt that radiated off the man. He'd tried to warn him, just as before and just like last time he'd refused to listen. Manny shook his head, whatever admirable qualities the past few months had revealed had not changed how absolutely, maddeningly frustrating his charge was. Stubborn, self-indulgent, faithless, damned and unrepentant – and yet, stalwart, self-sacrificing, burdened, and a champion of the light. Manny shook his head – he was in no mood to ponder the conundrum that was John Constantine, nor for that matter the mystery that was his Father's plan.

_As the Heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts higher than your thoughts. _

Movement drew his attention back to the bed and he stiffened as he felt the change within the demon then sighed inwardly with relief as he felt the call to approach Gary. Silently he thanked his Father for this privilege and began making his way towards the bed. Finally, it was over.

_**John**_

John sat hunched on the small stool staring darkness with unseeing eyes his hand still firmly grasping his friend's. _Friend_. His mind sneered the word at him – some friend, tricking a man who'd once given him that title into agreeing to a slow, agonizing death. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall as he felt the bile rise in his throat, self-disgust and loathing coursing through him. _With friends like these…_his mind continued to taunt. He shook his head as the memory flooded his mind unbidden: Gary's eyes locked with his, shining with love and admiration and gratitude; his small sigh of contentment as John kissed his head. A Judas kiss, his mind whispered. John's eyes snapped opened and he tightened his grip as he felt Gary twitch again. The seizure was much weaker this time and somehow John knew that it would be over soon.

_There's no better way to go out, a mage like John Constantine. _

This time John could not keep from snorting. _No better way…_John could think of a few: old and fat and warm in a bed, surrounded by loved ones, quickly out in a blaze of glory, heart attack, drowning, hell even cancer – actually John was fairly certain that any way would be better than this. Even now the screams still rang in his ears, cries of pure agony that had just gone on and on. John swallowed back the wave of nausea and tightened his grip, wishing for the thousandth time that he could somehow take the pain.

_You had your chance John._

John let his head fall back to the wall and fought the urge to scream, to rage at the unfairness of it all. Then, a flash of movement caught his attention and as his eyes flicked to the source, he felt his mouth open readying to unleash his fury at the apparent celestial being that he'd all but forgotten was in the room. The words died on his lips, though, as he watched the thing reach out and gently touch Gary's forehead. In that moment, Gary's form when limp and the hand slipped from his grasp –and John felt a sob bubble in his throat.

"Home?" John croaked, his eyes not leaving his friend's still form.

"Of course."

"Good, he deserves it."

"Heaven is not something that is deserved nor can it be earned. It is only by grace that man is saved."

John felt a cynical laugh bubble in his throat, but before he could make a retort the soft flapping of wings filled the air and he was alone. In an instant, John felt all the strength leave him and he slumped against the wall. Turning his head he felt his eyes cloud over as they came to rest on the body, the empty shell that had once been Gary Lester, his friend. Under other circumstances John might have raged against the idea of Gary being granted paradise while he was not, but in this moment the truth was never clearer – damnation was all he deserved.

_He wanted to be just like you – __**thank God**__ he's not!_

Thank God – just this once he would.

**Chas**

Chas knew something was wrong even before he opened the door. Years of exposure to the supernatural had honed his instincts and this house in particular seemed to have moods all its own. Cautiously he opened the door, slowly making his way in only to find a heart wrenching sight: Zed curled on the couch, a ball of complete misery. Going straight to her, he bent over and called her name softly, attempting to gently pull her back to reality.

"Chas," she croaked, "thank God…thank God you're here." She clung to him and he returned her embrace, trying to stay as calm as possible, projecting what he hoped to be soothing vibes towards the still budding psychic. Finally as her sobs calmed, he asked her what happened and as spoke Chas felt heart shatter, half reforming into the lump in his throat and the other falling through the floor towards his next destination. Giving Zed's shoulder a quick squeeze, he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and made his way towards the basement door. He paused as he reached the room at the back trying to gather his thoughts.

Chas' eyes snapped up at the sound of flapping wings and he quickly pushed opened the door. He felt his heart break once again at the sight before him. John stood at the head of the bed, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on the body before him seemingly unaware of Chas' entrance. Swallowing once more, he slowly approached his friend feeling his heart sink a little more with every unacknowledged step he took towards him. Finally, he was right behind and still John had not moved. Cautiously, he put a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing gently as John tensed under his touch.

"You should run," said John, still staring at Gary's face, "else that might be you one day."

"You know that's not possible," retorted Chas with a snort.

"Never say never," replied John darkly.

"Hey," snapped Chas, turning to face John and forcing him to do the same, "this wasn't your fault. You did what you had to." He placed his hand under John's chin and forced the man to meet his eyes. He felt his own eyes cloud over at what he saw. Dark, exhausted eyes devoid of all life and emotion save one: guilt. "Come on, let's get you cleaned-up." He wished he had more, but right now all he could think was to get John out of this room.

"No, I've got to….," trailed John, gesturing back to Gary's body.

"_**We'll**_ take care of it later, but right now you are going to wash up, get something to eat and get some rest," ordered Chas.

"He was here," stated John after a moment, turning back towards the body, "our fickle, feathered friend."

"I heard," answered Chas, a surge of anger rising through him. How much pain could have been avoided if that thing would just set aside its ridiculous rules and just do what was right? He shook his head and forced his attention back to John who was still speaking.

"….that no one deserves heaven." John was now leaning over the bed, one hand gently carding through Gary's hair. "He was wrong…you did. He did." John looked up at Chas who'd stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder for support.

"I know," replied Chas, softly, pulling his friend upright. "Come on."

"She was right," murmured John as he stood up. He spoke softly, almost to himself, then smirked as he caught Chas' confused stare. "Zed, she said that Gary wanted to be just like me and thank God that he wasn't."

Chas felt his heart ache at the hollow shadow of the very familiar expression on his friend's face, then a spark of righteous fury surged through him as he realized the true weight of his friend's words. 'Thank God' because Gary deserved heaven and John didn't. He felt fire grow as he saw John's eyes flick back to Gary then watched as his friend withdrew once again, self-disgust and loathing carved into his face. Without thinking he pulled the grieving man into his arms.

For a moment, the two men stood there, then John let out a sigh and sank forwards, forehead pressed into his friend's shoulder. No tears fell, Chas hadn't expect them to, but the grief and guilt seemed to grow exponentially heavier in that moment and Chas could only shake his head. One of the best men he'd ever known was damned and, unbelievably, believed he deserved it. Chas tightened his grip on the smaller man – he didn't know how, but somehow he would find a way to save him, because if any man deserved heaven it was John Constantine.


End file.
